


There's Something About a Waistcoat

by Primarina (PastelBrachypelma)



Series: Pleasure Feeding [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Food, Food Kink, Food Porn, M/M, Married Couple, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-03-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:28:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23200240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PastelBrachypelma/pseuds/Primarina
Summary: There were downsides to being married to a snake, though many of the negatives, Aziraphale found, were overwhelmed by the positives. Or turned into positives.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Pleasure Feeding [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1667971
Comments: 2
Kudos: 32





	There's Something About a Waistcoat

**Author's Note:**

> This is basically feederism porn. If you don't like feederism, particularly nonsexual feederism, please do yourself a favor and find something else to read, or, at least, don't leave hate comments. Thanks!

Crowley hummed contentedly , a hint of serpentine tongue still visible as he smacked his lips obnoxiously. “Mm. That’ll teach the bloody rabbits to dig up my garden!” 

Aziraphale tutted, eyeing Crowley over the rim of his glasses as he read the paper. “You know, I’m not entirely comfortable with your form of ‘pest control’, dear. I do hope you left the babies alive.” 

“What, you think I’m heartless?” Crowley scoffed, crossing to the loveseat where he’d taken off his jacket and waistcoat to do some “gardening” in the back of the cottage. “You know I waited until they could fend for themselves, just sent them scampering with their mum. ‘S not like rabbit parents are any use, anyway.” He shrugged the waistcoat over his shoulders, settling it against himself so he could button it. 

“Hmm,” Aziraphale fussily turned a page of his newspaper, in a way that told Crowley he wasn’t very amused with him. “I’m a bit put out you ruined your appetite for dinner, Crowley! We have a standing reservation, you know!”

Crowley rolled his eyes. “‘S not like I often eat human food, Aziraphale. I think they’re very clever, but I like blood and fur and bone and, well,” he huffed, buttoning up the first two buttons hastily, “find me a restaurant that serves their food still squealing and you’ve got me hooked!” 

Aziraphale sighed. There were downsides to being married to a snake, though many of the negatives, he found, were overwhelmed by the positives. Or turned into positives. He’d decided that after Crowley had stayed glued to his side when they were snowed in this past winter. To think he used to be irritated by Crowley’s inability to stay warm! 

This was a negative he had yet to learn to get around, even if he understood it. He and Crowley had developed human (or in Crowley’s case, reptilian) rhythms. They didn’t have exact human needs; Aziraphale didn’t need to eat nor did Crowley need to sleep as often as they both did, but every once in a while, Aziraphale would have to sleep, and Crowley would have to eat. 

Aziraphale secretly wondered if his demon got some kind of demonic pleasure from devouring garden pests, though, to be frank, he didn’t want to know. The whole thing was utterly disgusting, and Aziraphale wanted nothing to do with it. 

At least until Crowley spoke again. “Hmm. That’s funny.” 

“What is, dear?” Aziraphale asked, folding down the paper into his lap. 

Crowley had gotten as far as three buttons on his vest and was looking down at his corporation, puzzled. “This fit perfectly when I took it off.” He frowned, forehead creasing in confusion as he slid his hand down his front. 

Aziraphale wet his lips. Oh. “Crowley, dear,” he said, somewhere between amused and intrigued, “you’ve just eaten. Of course your waistcoat’s going to be tight.” 

“Ah.” Crowley did the last button up and turned towards Aziraphale, smirking. “And you like it, don’t you?” He splayed his hands across his hips. “Naughty angel. Of course a hedonistic bastard would have something of an...interest in this sort of thing.” He raised his hand, ready to snap his fingers. 

“Oh, don’t,” Aziraphale begged (though he’d deny it if you asked). “Crowley, don’t be a tease.” He looked away. “It isn’t as if I don’t like your corporation, it’s just…”

Crowley lowered his hand. “I’m skinny,” he finished. “I’m skinny and I don’t eat, and you’ve seen the old dears fussing over me and offering this and that to me.” He stalked towards the chair Aziraphale was sat in. “Do you want to be that for me, angel?”

Aziraphale swallowed, discarding his newspaper and settling his back firmly against the chair. He wasn’t necessarily aroused, per se. He and Crowley both had decided that the human ideas of sex and coupling were not for them. Aziraphale didn’t feel sexual attraction, but was not against it, and had had a dalliance or two over the years. Crowley, who had been contractually obligated to be a bit of a...sex worker...didn’t like sex. It was sticky and sweaty and often brought back painful memories. The person a demon must take to bed could never be a very nice person, after all. 

Regardless, they had both expressed an interest to please each other, in whatever ways they saw fit. It was a lot of open gestures of affection; kissing, hugging, holding hands, touching each other more often in general, and lots of repeated affections, such as gift giving and kind words.

This, Crowley thought, was new, though not unpleasant. He straddled Aziraphale’s lap, startling the principality, which only made Crowley laugh, making his stomach expand further against his vest. A whole adult rabbit would not even satisfy a snake the size of Crowley, wouldn’t even be a suitable meal for the eight foot creature he had become, the largest form he could safely take without drawing too much attention. (He could shrink or grow the size of his shape willingly, but it always felt the most comfortable to be big, to stretch. Besides, it was the perfect size for eating pesky pests.) Despite that, he had eaten an adult rabbit whole, and it was rather filling, even if it had left room for a raw, bleeding steak, or a whole trout. He’d made do with far less in the past, whether it was Hell on his tail or an energetic toddler; both were not easy to eat a whole meal around.

This reaction from Aziraphale, though. This was interesting. Crowley let his serpentine tongue scent the air, wonder if it would drive his angel absolutely mad to know he could eat more. Much more. Just thinking about Aziraphale’s eyes going wide at how stretched his stomach could become made his mouth water, gut purring with interest.

Aziraphale didn’t know where to look, or where to put his hands. He wanted to touch, to feel Crowley’s stomach stretched against his waistcoat. He did love Crowley’s lithe and sleek form, loved it for all its slender curves, and how Crowley used his height to his advantage. But a part of him always did resent the grandmotherly types who shoveled food onto his plate, extra helpings of everything, at barbecues, weddings, and parties in the village, telling him insistentently that he was “too skinny,” looking at Aziraphale accusingly as if he was at fault for Crowley’s weight.

It was rooted, of course, in silly human notions over what was “healthy” and “unhealthy” and who “deserved” food in their minds, and Crowley always set them straight: “Oh no, please, i’m too picky. Can’t blame my husband for that.” or “I’ve just got a frightfully high metabolism. Can’t keep up with it!”

It didn’t stop Aziraphale from wishing Crowley really would let him feed him. DesIre tugged at Aziraphale, and he pulled Crowley down into a kiss.

The serpent made a shocked sound in his throat before submissively letting himself be kissed. He tasted like fresh rabbit and marrow, which was interesting, and it was an intoxicating flavor to add to his usual taste. The angel kissed him hungrily, lapping at his palette, chasing every last bite of him. Finally, he pulled back for some air, grinning at Crowley, who was looking thoroughly snogged. “Delicious, my dear,” he purred, feeling brave and pressing a hand against Crowley’s stomach.

The demon jumped. “Oh!”

“Sorry,” Aziraphale pulled back. “Did I hurt you?” 

Crowley tended not to eat when he was exhausted and overwrought with anxiety, even if he needed to. The gagging and hoarse coughing was enough; Aziraphale hated to think what would happen if Crowley actually regurgitated.

“No, no,” Crowley reassured him, knowing exactly where his mind was going. “I’m okay. You just startled me.” He cupped Aziraphale’s cheek in his palm, kissing him again, a few soft, sweet pulls at his lips. “Now,” he purred, bringing Aziraphale’s hands back around his waist, “where were we?”

Aziraphale’s heart beat fast as he applied the slightest bit of pressure to Crowley’s belly, sighing as he felt tight resistance there, evidence of the demon’s meal. He never thought he’d actually enjoy Crowley’s pest control methods, but there you were. “Darling,” he breathed reverently. “Oh, my dear…” He marveled at the slight stretch of the waistcoat’s buttons, running his thumb over the velvet fabric, making Crowley shudder.

Crowley grinned, nosing into Aziraphale’s hair. He didn’t usually like a lot of attention, but he’d been learning slowly to let Aziraphale pamper him...and if it could be mutually beneficial, all the better. “Want to know the best part, angel?”

“Mm,” Aziraphale’s eyes were sparkling as he met Crowley’s. (The demon had left his glasses off all this time, having just been a snake, and not really needing them in their shared home, anyway.) “Oh, are you full, darling? Would you like to stretch out?”

Crowley flicked his tongue. Hmm. That might not be a bad idea in a bit. He grinned like a shark; what a surprise he had for his angel. “Aziraphale, I’m a snake. A very large one.” He licked his lips, the gold of his eyes bleeding into the white. “You really think one rabbit is enough for me?”

Aziraphale tilted his head. “Crowley...you usually only eat a small meal. Oh, dear,” he pulled away from Crowley, fussily fiddling with his watch chain. “You must be full. I don’t want you hurting yourself on my account! It won’t do!”

“Angel,” Crowley pulled Aziraphale’s hands away and clasped them in his own. “It’s not going to hurt me! It isn’t as if you asked me to fall on my knees and flog myself!” His eyes darted, watching Aziraphale’s expression. “Sometimes I have had to make due with a small meal, but it nearly killed me to do it!” He ran his fingers along Aziraphale’s hand. “After Armageddon didn't happen, I didn’t eat right away, even though I probably needed to, because I was still under a lot of stress. There was the body swap, and I had so many nightmares about Hell and the bookshop and I worried about Adam and Warlock, and I worried about us…” He smiled shakily. “You felt so hungry after you were back in your corporation, do you remember? You’d been in mine for only a couple of hours, and you nearly wolfed down your food at the Ritz! You don’t think my corporation had anything to do with that?!”

Aziraphale’s eyes began to fill with tears. “Oh, Crowley, I’m so sorry...I’ve been so selfish!”

Crowley shook his head, embracing Aziraphale as best he could. “It’s okay, angel. Don’t cry! I didn’t want you to cry.” He bestowed a kiss upon Aziraphale’s forehead. “I’m just saying,” he went on, pressing Aziraphale's hand to his gut so the angel could feel his stomach gurgling, “I'm hungry. I can eat.” He smiled kindly. “I’d like to, for you.”

Aziraphale beamed, glowing like the sun, and kissed him senseless.

~

They moved to the couch, letting Crowley stretch out a bit in preparation. Aziraphale giddily settled beside him. “Ooh, I hardly know what to start with!”

“Well,” Crowley stretched with a grunt, “fish is a good bet. Goes down easy, nice and slimy.” He winked at Aziraphale.

The angel hummed. “Hmm...oysters?”

“Well, not the shells,” Crowley mused, yawning lazily. “‘S all a bit pointy, with shellfish. Learned the hard way digesting shells is more trouble than it’s worth.”

Aziraphale miracled a plate of fresh oysters, raw and sweet, fresh from the ocean, and cracks one open. Crowley opens his mouth and Aziraphale tips it in. The angel was drawn to his throat in fascination as the demon swallowed each oyster whole, shuddering as Aziraphale left sweet, bruising kisses to his neck.

Next, a fat chicken was miracled up, still with its feathers, and a goose followed close behind. Crowley was a bit shy at his monstrous appearance as his human features stretched to swallow the birds whole, but Aziraphale insisted that he didn’t mind, so they kept at it. Two more geese followed the first, and then a chicken with fertilized eggs still inside. It was like two meals in one.

“Ahh,” Crowley let out a muffled belch and sank deeper into the couch. His eyes were closed in bliss, a content smile on his face. “Somebody, that feels amazing. I haven’t been this full since Mesopotamia.” 

Aziraphale was nearly drooling himself, gently stroking Crowley’s swollen belly. The waistcoat was straining fully now. It was a miracle it hadn’t burst yet. The angel unbuttoned it, letting Crowley’s stomach spill out comfortably, making the demon belch again. “You look amazing, my dear,” he purred, gently massaging the serpent’s stuffed belly. 

“Mmm, well,” Crowley grinned. “I feel amazing. Mostly feel sleepy, though.”

Aziraphale leaned over to kiss Crowley deeply. “I love you. Thank you for letting me take care of you.”

“Of course, angel,” Crowley pulled Aziraphale close to his side, stretching out his jaw with a yawn. “Suppose you’ve shown the old dears, haven’t you?”

“Mm, not yet,” Aziraphale mused. “For that, some weight has to stick.” He glanced hesitantly up at Crowley. “Is that all right?”

Crowley chuckled. “‘S fine, angel. Whatever you like.”

**Author's Note:**

> I've been watching the early seasons of Midsomer Murders and Tom Barnaby wears a waistcoat. Which obviously got me thinking about a waistcoat stretching around a full belly, and well...you know Crowley also wears a waistcoat, so...
> 
> I haven't written feederism stuff in a while, so I'm a bit rusty...oof.


End file.
